


Sunk into the Marrow of Your Bones

by StupidGenius



Series: Our Destiny, Intertwined [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Kaer Morhen, Light Angst, Like, M/M, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Rating May Change, allusions to smut for sure, hidden symbolism, i dont know if what i wrote counts as smut, i mean i tried anyway, maybe???, plus something else, that finally gets revealed in this addition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidGenius/pseuds/StupidGenius
Summary: “I know you’re a big tough Witcher and can go on for days, Geralt, but I could use a real bed.” Jaskier says. Ciri nods her head.“I’d rather not sleep on leaves more than I have to.”“You have a bedroll.”“No, we have to share two bedrolls squished together. Not the same.” She huffs, crossing her arms. “And Jaskier snores.”“Hey!” he gasps, offended. “I do not! Geralt?”Geralt shrugs.Oh gods hesnores.---Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri are finally off to Kaer morhen, and discover some things about themselves on the way.Edit (07-05-2020): tags and rating changed for chapter 2
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Our Destiny, Intertwined [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621027
Comments: 79
Kudos: 1742





	1. Part 1 - Jaskier

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! this part took me longer than i expected, in part because my beta reader has very little free time. But here it is! this installment is supposed to have two parts, so lets hope i can stick to that and not end up adding like three more chapters.
> 
> Also, once again, thank yall so much for all the kind comments on my art 😭 if you want to see more of my stuff im swearwolfcola on all social media.
> 
> Enjoy!

While Jaskier did miss Geralt, he didn’t actually miss the ‘ _traveling’_ part of traveling with him. His parents didn’t gift him with a substantial amount of physical stamina, it seems. But he does find that he enjoys traveling a lot more this time around. Maybe it’s the fact that Ciri is here, calling him “dad” in public and he won’t admit to anyone how his heart clenches. Her hair is short now, cut just above her shoulders and dyed brown to match his. Geralt is recognizable everywhere, and everyone knows Witchers are sterile. But it’s not a stretch to claim Ciri - sorry, _Fiona_ \- is a child of Jaskier’s, especially not with his reputation as a womanizer.

Maybe it’s because Geralt smiles at him more. Maybe it’s the way their hands brush as they walk, or Geralt begrudgingly letting Jaskier braid the buttercups he finds into his hair.

Maybe it is a mix of all of these things.

Whatever it may be, he sings songs about his love for coin at every town they stop in, and even with Nilfgaard a dark cloud hanging over their shoulders, he finds himself happier than he’s been in a while.

But that’s not counting the dreams.

They aren’t bad dreams, necessarily. Snippets of his past, before his parents were killed. But there is something else, something _other_ , tingeing them with a feeling he can’t describe. He wakes up nervous and itching to move, to _search_ , but he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He tries not to dwell on them too much, but they are always in the back of his mind.

“We’re near Fysenlaan.” Geralt informs them once they’ve settled down in camp for the night. “We can stay there tomorrow or push through.”

“I know you’re a big tough Witcher and can go on for days, Geralt, but I could use a real bed.” Jaskier says. Ciri nods her head.

“I’d rather not sleep on leaves more than I have to.”

“You have a bedroll.”

“No, we have to share two bedrolls squished together. Not the same.” She huffs, crossing her arms. “And Jaskier snores.”

“Hey!” he gasps, offended. “I do not! Geralt?”

Geralt shrugs.

Oh gods he _snores_.

“It’s okay, Jask – we love you anyway.” Ciri assures him. He sticks his tongue out at her, to which she responds with a horribly rude gesture, and Geralt snorts.

“Where did you learn such things?!”

“From you.” Ciri says sweetly.

Hmm. Right. Jaskier does vaguely recall making the very same gesture at an ungrateful townsperson last week. He wasn’t aware Ciri had been there – though, to be honest, he was pretty drunk.

“Will you teach me to play the lute like you do, Jaskier?” She asks after a moment. He smiles softly, tugging the instrument into his lap. Geralt pokes at the fire.

“If you want, yes. Though I don’t know how much time you’ll have for it once we get to Kaer Morhen, between Yennefer and Geralt’s training.” He plucks at the strings, making sure they’re all tuned correctly. “Did you know this lute was a gift from Filivandrel himself? I’m starting to think it’s enchanted – never gotten more than a scratch in the last twenty-two years.”

“Filivandrel?” She cocks her head to the side.

Of course she wouldn’t know who he is, with Calanthe in charge of her education.

“What elves remained after the ‘great cleansing’ named him king. I wonder if he still resents that title.” He starts to strum to chords to ‘Toss a Coin’, and Ciri watches his hands, enchanted. The sun has sunk into sky, casting an orange glow over everything. Geralt looks especially heavenly in this light. Jaskier could write a thousand songs about his eyes alone and it wouldn’t be enough. His notebook is filled with scraps lyrics that don’t fit together quite right, and most of them about Geralt, keeper of his heart. If he had been considered a romantic sap before, _oh_ , it is nothing compared to now. He plays Her Sweet kiss next, wordless, lighter.

“Jaskier.”

He blinks, and the music stops abruptly.

Geralt crouches in front of him, brows furrowed, and thrusts a handful of buttercups right in his face.

“Um.” Jaskier nearly sneezes. “Thank you, love, but you don’t have to be so aggressive about it.”

“These don’t grow here normally.” Geralt says. Like he expected him to understand what that means.

“Then you’ve preserved them very well and I’m proud of you?” He raises an eyebrow, and Geralt growls.

“ _Jaskier_. _You_ made these. Just now.” He releases them, and they drift to the ground, glowing in the sunset. “I watched them grow.”

Oh.

Wait – wait just a moment.

“I…I don’t know how that happened. Hmm.”

“You haven’t noticed these blooming everywhere you go? Between the cracks in the floors of taverns, even?” Geralt looks incredulous. As if he isn’t usually the most oblivious fool Jaskier knows, when it comes to certain things (and if Jaskier is still upset they had been pining over each other for years without the other knowing? What of it?).

“I thought they were just common weeds.”

“Hmm.” Geralt just huffs, dropping down to sit beside him.

“So you have magic?” Ciri wonders. Jaskier frowns.

“I do. I have a bit. But I’ve only been able to use it to…inspire. Get Geralt a bit more coin on the road.”

“Then your magic is growing.” Geralt bumps his shoulder with his and stays close, a line of warmth as the air cools around them. Jaskier picks up one of the discarded buttercups and tucks it behind Geralt’s ear. His face doesn’t change much, But Jaskier can see the beginnings of a smile.

“Maybe it is.”

“Does that mean you’ll have to train with me and Yennefer?” Ciri asks.

“We’ll see. I doubt our magic is similar enough that she could help, or that I’ll be able to do more than this.” He sighs. “And if I spend the rest of my life sprouting flowers in impossible places? What’s so bad about that? I see no problem with this.”

“Hmm.”

* * *

They reach Fysenlaan by midday. People give them wary looks upon seeing Geralt, but it wasn’t too bad. A child smiled at him, but that probably had more to do with the fact that he still had buttercups in his hair.

“That looks like a tavern right there.” Jaskier points out after a few minutes wandering through town.

“Smells like it.” Geralt nods. “We still have some coin. Take Fiona and ask about a room. I’ll put roach in the stables.”

“Doubt the coin’ll be enough, but alright.” Jaskier hums. Ciri takes his hand, and they go forth. Nearly five feet from the entrance, he stops short.

His eyes catch on the pots hanging on either side of the door. They both hold a small arrangement of vibrant purple flowers. They’re pretty, and extremely out of place against the stained wooden walls of the rest of the town. And, even stranger, the hair on the back of his neck stands up when he sees them, blood leaving his face and making him feel cold and filled with dread. He stumbles, confused, and Ciri looks up at him in concern.

“Jask?”

“I...” He frowns. “I’m fine. It’s just...I have a weird feeling.” He rubs at his neck. “It’s nothing. Maybe a chill.”

“I don’t feel any different.” Ciri looks back at the tavern. “Should we find somewhere else?”

“No, no. This is fine.” He forces himself to move forward and place his hand on the door. His skin almost itches when he touches it. He’s never had a reaction like this before.

It dissipates the moment he opens the door, and he hadn’t realized how tense he was until he relaxes, breathing deep.

It’s a normal tavern.

There are only a handful of people inside, and a barmaid serving food. No one bats an eye as they enter, and Jaskier goes up to the older woman behind a counter that he assumes must be the owner or their wife.

“Excuse me, my daughter and our friend and I were hoping you had a room available?” He asks. She narrows her eyes at him.

“I saw you comin’ into town. You’re with the Witcher.”

“Ah, yes, we are.” He keeps his smile firmly in place. “Is that a problem?”

“I have work for him.” She grunts. “Couple Of our men have gone missin’ out by the lake. Think there’s somethin’ out there killin’ ‘em.”

When Geralt enters, heads _do_ turn. He glares at anyone that looks at him and stumps over to Jaskier and Ciri, looking to everyone else like he’s ready to murder something, Jaskier knows. He also knows Geralt is just mildly annoyed, probably by the way people stared at him as he got Roach settled.

“This kind woman had a job for you, Geralt.” Jaskier informs him.

“Hmm.”

“Free food’n board if you can kill whatever it is killin’ our men.” The owner says. Geralt sighs.

“She said it’s been taking men out by the lake.”

“You’ll want to head to the other side of town.” She points in that direction.

Geralt sighs. “Are you sure these men didn’t just run away?”

“They had families. They were good men.” She places a large tankard if ale in front of them and stares at Geralt.

“And what will you do if I find nothing?”

“I’ll give you free food, at least, for lookin’.” She shrugs. Geralt hums.

“Fine.” He agrees. He tilts his head in the direction of the stairs. “Show them to our room. I’ll go.”

“What? No.” Jaskier shakes his head. “No, no no _no_ , I am definitely coming with you.”

“Me too.”

“ _No_.” Geralt growls. “It’s not safe.”

“We’re never safe.” Jaskier hisses. “There’s not much I can do if – if –”

“Please?” Ciri whispers.

Geralt glares at them both for a moment, before blowing a rough breath out his nose and stalking out of the tavern. Ciri grins. “That’s not a no!”

* * *

Geralt is very obviously not happy that they both tagged along.

He glares and grumbles as he lift’s Ciri up onto Roach’s back, and shoots Jaskier an annoyed, upset looks the whole walk across town. But what else should they have done? He will admit, he’s not useless in a fight. He has his set of daggers that Geralt gifted him several years ago, and he does know how to use them. His glamour also causes people to underestimate him. But he wouldn’t be able to take on more than one Nilgaardian soldier by himself, and even then he might not win. He wouldn’t want Ciri revealing herself to the whole town by screaming him to death either, so they had no choice but to follow Geralt, just in case.

And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just a tad bit anxious for new material. He doubts his fans want to hear anymore about how incredibly attractive Geralt’s ass is, or how his eyes shine in the moonlight.

“What do you think it could be?” He asks, trying to make conversation.

Geralt just grunts.

“Maybe it’s a siren?” Ciri guesses. “She did say it was only men going missing.”

“Men aren’t the only ones they take.” Geralt finally rumbles. “Anyone is susceptible.”

“Hmm.” Ciri hums thoughtfully.

In the few weeks that they have been traveling together, she has picked up on entirely too many of Geralt’s mannerisms. It’s horribly cute, and just a bit annoying.

“Roach can’t go further.” Geralt finally says, once they’ve entered the more heavily wooded area. He helps Ciri off and pats his horse affectionately. She pushes her nose into his chest. Jaskier pucks one of the buttercups from Geralt’s hair and tucks it into her mane.

“For safety.” He tells her. He like to imagine she is grateful.

“The lake is that way.” Geralt points. “When I tell you to stay behind, _stay_.”

“Always wondered what dogs felt like.” Ciri huffs. Jaskier snorts.

They don’t walk very far before Geralt tells them to stay here and walks off without them, sword out and ready. Jaskier himself can’t see any lake nearby, even when he squints. He does, however, spot a few pretty little violet flowers sprouting up from the ground, which he is certain he didn’t personally make. He plucks one and his fingers tingle.

“Do you hear that?” Ciri breathes. He reaches down to pluck another flower.

“What?”

“Running water.” She moves further away from him. “We should go get some. Our waterskins are almost empty anyway.”

“We can get some back at the tavern.”

“But I’m thirsty _now_.” She insists, walking faster. He tucks the flowers into his bag and hurries after her.

“Ci – _Fiona_ , dear, don’t run off without me.” He follows, and eventually he does hear the running water. He also feels…something. Something familiar, though he’s not sure why. His fingertips still tingle from the flowers, and his amulet feels heavy on his chest. The further they walk, the more aware he is of the feel of his clothes against his skin, and the brush of leaves and foliage against him. “Maybe we should have stayed where we were.” He hears himself speak from far away.

“But there’s something here.” Ciri says. “I can feel it. I’m thirsty.”

He can’t argue with that.

They finally come to a stop, and Jaskier looks down to see a river. The grass around it seems overly green, and the same small, bell shaped flowers grow in large patches near the water.

There’s also a woman, very beautiful, and very, very _naked_ , bathing in the river.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s face heats. “Um, Ciri –”

“I know.” She whispers, gripping his hand.

The woman in the river looks up at them and smiles. When he blinks, he sees the imprint of something green and distorted in the water, but when he opens his eyes, there she is still. She sinks a bit lower, seemingly unperturbed that they’ve seen her naked. Jaskier takes a step towards her, and his feet crush a handful of flowers.

“Um – sorry to disturb you. We were just – thirsty. Wanted a drink. But, ah. We’ll come back later.” He stutters. She shakes her head and reaches out, and her fingertips are almost blue from the water. He feels the something other in the air, the familiar taste of magic on his tongue, and part of him knows he should run. Another part of him is entranced. He reaches out slowly, and he feels Ciri tug at his hand, trying to pull him away, but he just can’t go.

He has to know what she wants.

The moment their hands touch, a lot happens.

Her skin and hair turn a horrible, muddy green, her face twisting and an angry shriek leaving her mouth. She snarls, and throws herself back. His blood feels electric, heart racing, and he scrambles back, tripping over his feet and landing in a patch of flowers.

“Jaskier!”

“What…” he breathes, blinking rapidly.

Whatever that _thing_ is hisses at them, sunken eyes wide with anger, but doesn’t make another move closer. He hears Geralt call his name almost distantly, and then the creature is vanishing back into the water, not a trace of her to be found. The unnatural saturation of the area fades, and the flowers wilt and die in seconds. He sits, still and panting.

“Jaskier.” Geralt drops down beside him, almost looking frantic. His hands are rough as they pull on his doublet. “What happened?”

“N-nothing.” He gets out. He grabs hold of Geralt’s wrist, squeezing gently. “I’m fine. She didn’t do anything. I’m okay.” Jaskier repeats. Geralt finally stops, looking at them both, and taking in their very unharmed states, sags a bit. He looks back to the river, now empty.

“It was a Rusalka.” He informs them. “I’ve seen them before.”

“It was going to kill you.” Ciri whispers. She stares at Jaskier for a moment before throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around him tight, burying her face in his chest. He lets out a surprised sound, patting her back.

“Hey, I’m fine! Obviously I was much too ugly for her to munch on, with that reaction.”

“I’ve never seen one run away like that.” Geralt says, brows furrowed.

“Maybe they don’t like elves?” He wonders. Geralt shakes his head, looking confused. Turns and reaches into the water, tense and waiting, but nothing happens. The sun catches on the buttercup still in his hair and it shines. It calms Jaskier’s racing heart.

“Men are men, and they take them all the same.”

That’s not very comforting.

“Maybe it’s...whatever else I am.” He wonders, hesitant.

He doesn’t know what that is, still. There are times he dreams dark things and wonders if maybe his other side is a monster. Times when he eyes Geralt’s silver sword and wonders if it will be run through his chest one day. They are brief thoughts, but upsetting none the less.

He just wishes he knew.

(It’s more complex than that. He wishes he didn’t have to hide. He wishes his parents weren’t murdered by humans who thought they owned everything they laid eyes upon. But he knows the price of djinn and they’re trickery, so he will wish no more.)

“Maybe.” Geralt agrees.

“What do we do now?” He asks. The Witcher stands.

“We head back. There are two ways to kill a Rusalka. Kill them when they attack, or kill the disgusting monster who made them. I prefer the later.” Ciri finally releases him, and Geralt heaves him up off the ground.

The flowers in his pocket are rotten, and his fingers still spark with magic when he touches their brown bell petals.

Geralt takes his hand in the private quiet of the forest, away from the wary, prying eyes of the town. Ciri walks in front of them and Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, where his hair grows white from the part of his soul he lost. A reassurance. Relief. _You’re okay_. And Jaskier kisses his Witcher’s knuckles, and ignores Ciri’s disgusted face when she turns around because he’s seen the fond way she looks at them when they bicker by the fire.

Back to town they go.

* * *

In Gulera, Jaskier gets a new dagger.

Its pretty. He sees it while he’s alone, searching for a new pair of gloves. The sun reflecting off it catches his eye, and when he wanders over, the old man at the stall tells him it’s one of a kind. There’s lovely little butterfly carved into the pommel. It’s not very expensive, so he buys it without a second thought and wonders if Ciri will like it. He rubs his fingers over the engraving before tucking it into his boot and continuing along.

When he gets to their room, Geralt is fixing one of his shirts that he tore last week, and Ciri in the middle of telling a story about something Mousesack did when she was younger.

“What took you so long?” Geralt asks him, not even looking up from his shirt.

“I brought gifts!” Jaskier throws himself down on the bed beside Ciri, and it creaks somewhat ominously. “Well. I have one gift. The market here is very nice, though small, and I got distracted.” He reaches into his boot and pulls the dagger free, gingerly wrapping his hand around the blade and holding the grip out in Ciri’s direction. Her eyes widen.

“It’s for me?”

“Well, Geralt would certainly never let me buy one for him.”

“Hmm.”

“Thank you, Jask.” She says softly. He smiles at her.

“Keep that hidden. Most young girls don’t go around brandishing weapons.” Geralt tells her.

“Maybe they should.” She huffs. Amusement pulls at Geralt’s lips.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe I should compose a song about a brave young girl on her quest to knighthood.” Jaskier grabs his lute from where it leans against the bed. “And I should give her a little friend, too. It’s dangerous to wander around alone, as we all know.”

“An elf?” Ciri wonders. He grins.

“Sounds like a wonderful song. I’d never be able to play it in public without getting rotten fruit thrown at me, but that doesn’t make it any less wonderful.” He tries to strum a tune and winces, his fingers strangely sore.

When he inspects his hands, his fingertips are an angry, deep pink. The palm of his hand is also blotchy and irritated, like it’s been sitting out in the sun for too long, or got too close to a fire. He doesn’t remember either of those things happening, so it’s beyond odd. Ciri spots it and takes his hand in hers, a wrinkle in her brow.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure.” He frowns. “I…don’t remember.”

“Didn’t touch anything you weren’t supposed to?” Geralt asks. He inspects Jaskier’s hand, turning it and poking at more sensitive parts.

“I would never.” He scoffs. Geralt raises a brow.

Yeah, that’s a lie.

“I’m sure someone here has a salve you could put over it.”

“Eh,” he takes his hand back. “It probably won’t last long. I just won’t play for a few days.”

“But I love when you play.” Ciri frowns at him.

“Oh, _thank you_ , buttercup. I can still sing though, if you want. Glad you don’t think my voice is akin to ordering a filling-less pie.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighs, exasperated. He won’t apologize for that, still, but that’s okay. he knows how Geralt really feels, even if he won’t admit it out loud yet.

Later, he sees him inspecting Ciri’s new dagger, a curious expression on his face. It’s not one Jaskier’s ever seen before, but it’s almost like he’s solving a riddle. He doesn’t say anything when they all go to sleep later, but Jaskier can tell it troubles him.

* * *

_“Look at what I found, ma!” Jaskier can not see beyond the small bone he holds in his palm and his tiny, dirt covered fingers. He sees his mother’s bright eyes, and a brittle smile._

_“That’s lovely, my flower. But you must put it back.” She instructs him._

_“Why?”_

_“There’s more meaning behind the gift than you know. It’s a trick.” She picks it from his hand and places it in the earth. The world is hazy and colorful, and soft blue flowers sprout from the bone, little bells. They decay right before his eyes in a matter of seconds. “They want to take you back. But we won’t let them, will we?”_

_“No.” he says. But he does not know why._

He gasps awake, feeling as though he’s been running for a miles.

“Jask?” Geralt mumbles, arm around him tightening. Jaskier’s eyes lock on the fight light outside the window.

“I’m okay.” He whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

The light does not leave until morning.

* * *

Until they get to Ard Carraigh, their travels pass without much issue. There are no surprise monsters disturbing them when they sleep under the stars. No on recognizes Ciri. Jaskier teaches her some basic chords on the lute, and Geralt shows her some tricks with her new blade. They’re close to Kare Morhen, maybe less than a week away if they push themselves.

It’s when they’re leaving that something happens.

Jaskier pockets the coin from his last performance in the tavern. It’s not much, but it’s more than the last town they stopped in, which was nothing. Ciri’s sitting alone in the corner, waiting for Geralt to return with their things ready to go. Or, she _was_ supposed to be alone. When Jaskier gets up from his crouch on the floor, he sees two men hovering near her. She looks at him, clearly uncomfortable.

“Excuse me,” he hurries over, slinging his lute over his back. “Would you two lovely gentlemen mind stepping away from my daughter?”

“Your daughter?” One of the men repeats. Jaskier glares at them.

“Yes.”

They’re not wearing any armor, or anything that screams ‘Nilfgaard’, but that doesn’t mean anything. they could be spies. Maybe even hired mercenaries. They don’t look very bright, but that could be an act. And one doesn’t necessarily have to be smart to understand that bringing in the lost princess means a big reward for them.

“Come on, Fiona. We’re leaving.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, and she stands quickly, letting him lead her outside. He can see Geralt down the street, fixing the saddle on Roach.

“They’re watching us.” Ciri whispers, glances behind them quickly. Jaskier swallows thickly.

“Just – walk in front of me, don’t look at them.” He urges her to walk after. They’re almost to Geralt.

When he looks back, they’ve followed them outside the tavern, poorly hidden.

 _Fuck_.

“Geralt.” He hisses. The Witcher pauses. When he sees them, his eyes shift briefly behind, and his expression turns stony.

“Roach’s ready to go. Help her up.” He instructs.

“Geralt –” Ciri starts. Jaskier shakes his head.

Geralt will always be okay. He’s seen him swallowed whole and rip himself out an hour later. The two idiots back there are nothing. But he can’t fight them if he’s worrying about her safety. Or Jaskier’s, for that matter.

“Come on.” he helps her onto Roach’s back And Geralt stands, arms crossed, blocking them from the men’s line of sight. Jaskier clambers on, behind her, and grabs hold of Roach’s reins.

“Leave. If they follow, I’ll take care of them.” Geralt pulls his sword off his back.

Steel, for monsters masquerading as men.

“We can’t leave him!” Ciri cries.

“We won’t. Roach will stop, and he’ll catch up.” Roach takes off the moment there’s enough space for them to leave, and Ciri presses back into him. The few people on the street rush out of the way at the sight of them, and Jaskier has but a moment to register an angry shout behind them before something imbeds itself into his arm.

And it _burns_.

“Jaskier!” Ciri yells. He grits his teeth, and Roach galops on.

“I’m fine.” He gasps. “Just – just an arrow. I’ll be fine.”

He has been shot by an arrow once before. It was a while ago, early into his and Geralt’s travels, but he doesn’t remember it hurting this much. Maybe he’s just misremembering. It had been in the leg, last time. Maybe it just hurts different here? Maybe it hit bone. He’s not sure.

They reach the tree line soon, and after a few minutes, Roach slows to a stop. Jaskier slides off with a groan, whole arm burning.

“Fuck.” He gasps.

“We should take it out.” Ciri says, expression panicked.

“No, no. Geralt…he always says to leave it in until we can stitch it. I don’t have supplies.” He stars at the shaft sticking out of his arm and feels woozy. There isn’t too much blood yet, which is a bit odd. There’s also a vague smell of cooked meat, which certainly isn’t helping. He leans back against a tree and slides down, trying to take a steadying breath. With each pound of his racing heart the pain only gets worse, but he can’t tell Ciri that. He doesn’t want to upset her further.

“What do I do?” She asks frantically. He tries to smile at her.

“Nothing, buttercup. We just wait, okay?” He tries to relax, and the shaft gets knocked by the tree and he yelps.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“You can take a deep breath for me.” He instructs. She gives him a flat look, but does as she’ told. After a moment, she stops trembling, and sinks down next to him. She sits on his uninjured side and leans into him.

“I wish you didn’t get hurt because of me.” She whispers.

“I got hurt because of those men. Not because of you.” He corrects.

“They were after me.”

“Ciri…” he sighs, “please, don’t blame yourself for this. _Never_ blame yourself for any of this. This is on Nilfgaard, and Fringilla, and all the people who follow her. They want to use you. And Geralt and I will never let that happen. No matter what it takes.”

“…thank you, Jask.” She croaks.

“That’s just what family does, isn’t it?” He asks. She blinks, taken back.

“Yeah.” She looks up at Roach. “You are am family now, aren’t you?”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

* * *

Jaskier doesn’t know how long it takes for Geralt to catch up to them. He tells them both, when he arrives, that it was only about half an hour. Jaskier feels more like it was many hours. He also feels hot all over and the trees won’t stop moving, so maybe Jaskier is not in his right mind by the time their dear Witcher arrives.

“This is infected.” Geralt growls.

“So fast?”

“It’s not like arrowheads are sanitary.” He sighs. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Wha – _ah_!” Jaskier screams, and the arrowhead comes out the other side of his arm.

“Geralt!” Ciri yells. He at least looks remorseful.

“Sorry. It’s easier than trying to pull it back out.” Geralt holds the arrowhead up to his face and snarls. “This is rusted.”

“That’s wonderful.” Jaskier says weakly. No wonder it burned.

“We should find a healer.” Ciri suggests. Jaskier shakes his head, and finds that to be a horrible thing to do. The trees sway and wiggle.

“I’ll be okay.” He insists. “I heal faster than humans do.”

“But you’ve only gotten worse since this happened.” Geralt tells him gently. “I have some medicine. We’re not far from Kaer Morhen. If you’re not getting better, we stop at the next town.”

“Seems reasonable.” He hums tiredly. Geralt just glares angrily at his arm while he tends to it. “Hey. Stop – stop with the face.”

“You’re _hurt_.” Geralt snaps. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Yes. It’s definitely not the worst I’ve been injured, though, so how about we stop with the sad looks and move along? What did you do to those men?”

“They won’t be bothering us again.”

Geralt looks absolutely murderous as he finishes taking care of the injury. Once it’s as clean as can be, covered in salve, and wrapped, Jaskier steals a quick kiss. He presses his hand to Geralt’s shoulder and feels him relax under his touch.

“It’s okay, love.” He breathes.

“It never is.” Geralt whispers.

“Look!” Ciri sticks a small flower between them the moment they break apart, and Jaskier sneezes right into it. The petals blow away, scattering right into Geralt’s face, save for one still on the stem. “It...it _was_ a dandelion.”

“I’m sure it was lovely.” Jaskier blinks, and Geralt’s face multiplies.

“We’ll make camp for tonight, and then we leave early in the morning. Are you okay to walk?”

“With support, I think.” Geralt helps him up and keeps a steady hand on his waist.

They only walk for a handful of minutes before coming upon a clearing big enough to set up camp. Geralt makes them something to eat and checks Jaskier’s arm again to make sure it’s not any worse.

Jaskier closes his eyes and dreams of lights carrying him away.


	2. Update

So sorry for the absence guys. Don’t know what to say, life really kicked me in the ass after my last update. Times are tough rn, but I hope you’re all doing well! Just wanted to once again thank y’all for all your lovely comments, and that I’m finishing up this series soon. 

Just wanted to ask really quick before I get too far into it, who’s POV would y’all like the second chapter to be in?

**Author's Note:**

> I know they're not in this chapter, but id just like to point out that my research for how to write the other witcher boils down to:  
> \- asking y'all what they're like  
> \- watching 'the witcher 3 as vines' compilations.  
> glad to know my assessment of them was basically correct, and hopefully they'll be somewhat accurate in the next chapter
> 
> thank you all for reading! comments and kudos greatly appreciated 😊


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